


growing up old

by wolfofwinterfell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Death, Grave, M/M, Post-War, Therapy, Writing, and sadness, graveyard, just a piece about two brothers, this is not slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfofwinterfell/pseuds/wolfofwinterfell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George mourns the death of his twin, Fred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	growing up old

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition over on ff.net.

**growing up old**

 

The air was cold, cold as George could ever remember it being this early in November. If that were any indication of how the rest of the year were going to play out, then he’d have to say he was not looking forward to that at all. The sky was a dark grey, the sort that promises a torrent of rain in the near future, but he paid it no mind. For now, he was fine. And that was the root of the matter, wasn’t it? That he was fine, but that Fred was not.

He looked at his brother’s headstone, noted the too-few years that were marked there. Fred had deserved so much more and instead he was sent to an early grave. He died a hero, but he died all too soon, and some days, his brother felt like he was breaking. He more than wanted his twin back. He _needed_ him.

“It’s been too long, Fred. Too damn long.” And his voice was quiet, as it usually was when he came here. His hand skimmed over the freezing stone before he folded his legs and sat on the grass. There were still a few leaves on the ground, either ones that recently fell or that had been missed by an aging rake. George picked one up and held the stem between his fingers and twirled it. “I wish this thing could take me back. Take us back.”

In a way, it did. George sighed heavily and closed his eyes as he let the leaf come to a stop, and his mind began to replay the usual memories. There were their birthdays from their younger years, and the first Christmas with Ron. Of course, the time that Fred had turned Ron’s teddy bear into a spider and George had thought it was the funniest thing ever could never be left out and neither could the early mornings watching the sun come up after a long night spent talking. The long summer days spent playing quidditch on subpar brooms were some of the best remembrances, as they were some of the most fun.

The list went on and on, and could for days. George barely had to try to remember them anymore, often as it were that he let them overtake him. Reminders of Fred were everywhere, after all. And yet there were still things that would catch Fred off guard, bring up something he forgot. Just like now.

_Arthur’s love for muggle things hadn’t quite transferred to his kids, something they knew he was disappointed about. Yet there was one thing Fred and George loved – muggle movies. George had no favorite genre in particular, but Fred had loved all the Disney movies. They’d watched one just a few weeks before the final battle at Hogwarts, a brief means of escape from the harsh reality of life for a few moments._  
  
“I can’t believe you’re an adult and you still love these things. When are you going to grow up?” George had grinned over at him, knowing what the answer would be. 

_“Growing up? Pfft. Who wants to do that?” Fred had winked back, and at the same moment they’d laughed._

The air on George’s face stung, and it was only then that he noticed he was crying again. He wanted to stay in the realm of his memories, sad as they could be. There, he didn’t have to face reality and didn’t have to worry about reaching up to wipe a tear from his eye. There, he could pretend that everything was still okay.

“I should have come to visit you more right after everything, Fred. I should have. Everyone says it would have been better for me, that I wouldn’t still be having problems. But they don’t get it. How can everything be okay again? You aren’t here and I need you.” He bit his lip for a moment and reached into his coat. When he pulled it back, he held a journal is his hands. “I started writing in this thing just last week, and I told myself that I wasn’t going to come visit you until it was full. And man, is it full.”

He thumbed the pages for a moment.

“Mum finally got me to start seeing a shrink again, and I think it’s actually helping a little this time. See, before, they just wanted me to talk and talk and talk. But now, this one’s different. He wants me to write. I thought it was going to be hard, as you can probably imagine. You and I never wrote much of anything unless it was dealing with our jokes or order forms. I actually like it, now that I’ve started… This book’s full already because I just have so much to get out. See, the shrink says he wants me to write whatever I want – how cool is that? And I’ve been writing to all of the people I knew personally who died in the war. I’ll read you one of the entries I wrote to you.”

George swallowed thickly and opened the book to the first page – his most difficult entry, and yet the one he was most proud of it. “Be patient with me, okay? My writing may not be on Hermione’s level, but I still like it. This is just hard.”

The wind picked up again, touching his cheek, as he began to read.

“Dear Fred,

I used to think that writing to a dead person was stupid. What was the point? It isn’t like they can ever read it. Nobody else will, either. But my thoughts on that have changed. This isn’t necessarily for you, but for me. Nobody else has to read it for it to be important.

As I probably told you before I started writing this, I’m seeing a new shrink now and he’s working out a lot better for me than the old one. Dad has finally stopped trying to have his talks with me now; I suppose that’s because he can tell I’m getting a bit better. Mum is the same way, but she still looks at me the same. I know she’s worried.

The way I worded that, it isn’t quite right. It makes it seem like they didn’t care about you. You know that’s not true, and I know it too. They’ve just accepted your death. Both of them have coped better than I have – hell, the entire family has. But I’ll tell you a bit about what our parents do to remember you, because that’s what I would want you to do for me.

Mum pauses every time she passes the clock. We used to make fun of that thing, but I know you loved it (as I do, too). She smiles, too, a tiny little smile with sadness written through it. She’s got pictures of all of us throughout the house, and she put some up in the store so that all the customers can see you and remember you. Last Christmas, she still made you a sweater and she let me have it. This year, I asked her to make us scarves too.

Dad pretty much does the same – minus the sweaters. You figured that, though. His collection of those Disney movies you love has grown, and every time he watches one he makes a comment about how much you would have loved it.

So, updates on the other people you cared about are in order.

Ron and Harry are working on becoming aurors, just like they always wanted to be. Ron doesn’t seem to enjoy it as much as Harry though. He asked me the other day if he could help me run the joke shop, says it’s a place he’s always loved anyway and he wants to keep your memory alive there. I told him that if he really wants to quit auror training, I’ll be glad to take him on with me. Maybe that will help motivate me to get up and go downstairs every morning. I miss laughing, Fred. I miss it so much, and I fake it for everyone so they won’t worry about me so much…but it’s not the same as laughing with you.

Anyway, Harry and Ginny are engaged – doubt that’s a shocker. Ron will probably pop the question to Hermione soon. She went back to school to do her seventh year. Kind of makes me gag. I’m glad we left when we did.

I’ll write to you more soon, but right now I have to stop. You understand, I hope.

I wish you were here more than anything, Fred. I’ve never felt so old without you.

Your favorite brother,  
George.”

He laid back on the ground then, his journal on his chest, eyes closed. And he thought of Fred, once again, as he wished that they were like Peter Pan – the boys who couldn’t grow up.


End file.
